Pay-Off in Blood by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online Page B

faced the redhead and the reporter and asked, “Did either one of you get anything in particular out of that?”
    When Timothy Rourke shook his head and didn’t reply, Shayne said, “That business about the gambling, Chief. I may have an angle on it.”
    “What is it?” snapped Painter.
    “He’s been paying blackmail for six months,” Shayne explained. “He told me that, in order to cover up in front of his wife, he had told her he was gambling heavily and losing.”
    “And she believed him.” Painter swung on the reporter. “How about it, Rourke ? You’ve known him for years. Was the doctor a heavy gambler?”
    “I told you I knew him only casually,” protested Rourke . “I never checked on his personal habits.”
    “You mean you don’t know?” persisted Painter.
    “I mean I don’t know,” agreed Rourke stiffly.
    “All right.” Painter swung away. “You can both go. I may be calling on you tomorrow.” He went down the walk on hard heels toward his unmarked car with a police chauffeur at the curb.
    Timothy Rourke turned after him, muttering, “ Guess I’ll take off, too.”
    Shayne caught up with him in three long strides. He clamped the fingers of his big left hand tightly around the reporter’s thin biceps and pulled him to a halt. “We’ve got things to talk about, Tim.”
    “I don’t see it.” His old friend faced him defiantly in the thin moonlight. “I asked you for a favor. You refused. That’s your right. What the hell?” He looked away from Shayne’s scowling face. “I need a drink.”
    Shayne said, “So do I .” He released Rourke’s arm, gave him a little shove toward the sidewalk. “Get in your heap, and I’ll follow,” he said grimly. “Pull in at the first gin-mill where we can have a quiet drink and some talk.”

 
CHAPTER SIX
     
    Shayne got in his car and switched on the headlights that picked out Timothy Rourke’s shambling figure as he got into the driver’s seat of the shabby coupé which the detective knew so well. He started his motor and waited until Rourke drew away from the curb, then pulled out behind him. There were only two police cars left parked on the quiet side street as they drove away.
    Rourke’s coupé turned south toward the business section of Miami Beach, and Shayne followed close behind. On Fifth Street, Rourke turned to the right toward the Causeway, slowed and pulled into the curb in front of the first bar at which there was parking space.
    Shayne parked behind him, cut off his ignition and headlights, and got out briskly. He caught up with the reporter as Rourke was entering the bar, and walked beside him, without speaking, to an empty booth. Timothy Rourke slid into it and Shayne sat opposite him. Rourke avoided meeting his eyes as a waiter came up to take their order. He said, “Bourbon and water. Make it a double,” and Shayne ordered cognac with ice water on the side.
    The waiter went away, and Rourke continued to avoid meeting Shayne’s eyes.
    The redhead lit a cigarette and said tonelessly, “Get off your high-horse, Tim. We’ve been friends for a good many years.”
    “That,” said Rourke , “is what’s bothering me.”
    “So, why did you pull that fool stunt tonight?”
    “Sending Doc Ambrose to you for help?” Rourke darted an angry glance at him. “I didn’t think it was a fool stunt when I did it. I was crazy enough to think that those years of friendship you just mentioned meant something to you. That you, by God, would help a man out, if I asked you to. Without asking any questions.”
    The waiter brought their drinks. Shayne waited until he had gone away before countering mildly, “And I thought you’d trust me to handle it, Tim. Without sticking your oar in. Goddamit !” he went on strongly, “from where I sit, it looks to me like your interference triggered Doctor Ambrose’s death.”
    “My interference?” Rourke looked at him incredulously with his highball halfway to his mouth. “What in hell are